Nothing Left
by An Avengers Fan
Summary: "Now was the hardest part. Killing the Amphisbaena, binding the writhing Thalia's wounds, force-feeding her ambrosia? It all paled in comparison to this horrible waiting. Never in his life had Luke felt this helpless, unable to do anything as the life slowly drained out of his only friend in the world." [Oneshot, LukexThalia, rated for dark themes]


**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Percy Jackson and the Olympians**_** or **_**The Heroes of Olympus**_**. I do not own any of the characters therein. I am not making profit through this but am writing for pleasure.**

He was sure that she was asleep. Her deep-sleep breathing, heavy and slow, had become familiar to him over the past few months. Still, Luke was careful not to wake Thalia as he pulled himself into a sitting position.

Though he would never admit it, Luke had been sleeping easier since Thalia had become a part of his life. There was something soothing about hearing her steady breathing, seeing the shape of her next to him, and knowing that he wasn't alone. Tonight, however, even Thalia's presence couldn't dispell his foreboding, restless mood.

In his sleepless state, he found himself admiring the fine line of her jaw, her delicate cheekbones, the sprinkle of freckles across her nose, her Grecian complexian. She really had the most beautiful face he had ever seen, though he was usually too focused on her attractive yet dangerous electric blue eyes to notice.

He allowed his eyes to wander down her lithe body to the wound on her right hip. His sense of foreboding returned. Ever since the Amphisbaena had first bit her, the wound had been bleeding profusely. He had bound it as tightly as he could with Thalia writhing in pain, but a red stain was already visible through the bandages. After feeding her enough nectar and ambrosia to kill any demigod but a child of Zeus, she had finally fallen asleep.

Now was the hardest part. Killing the Amphisbaena, binding the writhing Thalia's wounds, force-feeding her ambrosia? It all paled in comparison to this horrible waiting. Never in his life had Luke felt this helpless, unable to do anything as the life slowly drained out of his only friend in the world. If he wasn't so angry with the gods, he might even be tempted to pray.

But no. He could never do that. It was their fault in the first place that she was here, dying from some stupid monster's bite. He hadn't even killed the Amphisbaena, not really. What use was it, the constant fighting? Even if she lived today, the monsters would keep coming back again and again. Eventually, the two of them wouldn't be smart enough or strong enough or fast enough. They were living on borrowed time. The unfairness of it all, of their whole lives, coursed through him like poison.

_Why?_ he silently raged at his father. _Why couldn't you have left my mother alone? It would have been better if I had never been born!_

A moan from Thalia brought Luke into focus. He slowly reached out a hand to touch her forehead. As he made contact, she whimpered. Her forehead was hot, and his hand came away slick with sweat. He felt sick, as if an Amphisbaena was eating away at his insides. He hated seeing her like this, injured and so unlike the Thalia he had first met.

That night, she had been wearing those black punk/Goth clothes that made her look so intimidating – ripped jeans, a leather jacket, and buttons supporting different rock bands. Her choppy hair had been all over the place, and she had had several cuts on her face. She had looked feral and just as scary as the dragon. The memory almost brought a smile to his face. Almost.

He loved her. He loved her the way a dying man loves breath. She was the only one he had ever cared about, the only thing that mattered in the least to him. He had no friends, no family, no fortune. The world could rot for all he cared. But Thalia _must_ live.

_Do you hear me?_ he screamed silently to his father. _Thalia _must_ live._

But the gods didn't care. Their children lived, and their children died, and the gods lived on, unconcerned by the affairs of mortals. At the thought, rage suddenly crashed down on him like a tidal wave. He hated the gods! He hated their selfishness, their pride, their indifference to mortals' lives. He _hated_ them! He couldn't move, or think, or even breathe. He could just _hate_. The sheer ferocity of his anger left him shaking, and he knew he was supposed to be frightened by this, by his limitless capacity to _hate_. He might have been once. He didn't know. He didn't care. All he knew was that he wanted to make the gods pay for what they had done to him, for what they were doing to Thalia.

_Thalia!_ Luke glanced back at her. She was shivering, and her face was contorted in pain. The fury filled him again.

At that moment, he swore revenge. He swore that if Thalia died, he would tear Olympus down, brick by brick. He'd make the gods pay for ignoring her, and him, and all their children. He would teach them how it felt to have you whole world ripped from you. He would teach the how it felt to be a demigod.

After all, why not? If Thalia died, he'd have nothing left to loose.


End file.
